Holiday in Paradise
by Kiki102
Summary: Fifth in the Love in Paradise series. Camille never expected to see this side of Richard. Until they took a very revealing trip to London.
1. London Calling

"If you don't put your phone away right now I swear I'm going to hurt you," Camille threatened.

"I just need to check Dwayne got my message about the new filing system," Richard replied.

"Dwayne doesn't do the filing, Fidel does. And he made the system! Richard, they want to take off but they can't because of your phone." She wrestled the mobile from his grip and turned it off.

"You could've said please."

"You're impossible!"

XOXOXOX

"That stewardess keeps asking me if I'm airsick," Camille muttered. "I'm not airsick, I have morning sickness and some genius decided that now was a brilliant time to take a holiday!"

"It's your fault!" Richard retorted. "You were the one that answered my phone when my mother called. And if we didn't go see her and tell her in person that you're pregnant, she'd have a fit!"

"So you weren't going to tell her?" Camille challenged.

"I was... working myself up to it."

"You are such a liar."

"I am not."

Flicking her magazine sharply, so it gave a satisfying crack, Camille ignored him for the rest of the flight to Miami, not that it appeared to bother Richard, who was absorbed with a murder mystery novel. She could practically hear the wheels in his head going round as he tried to work out who the murderer was before it was revealed. He'd sulked for days once when she told him who'd did it.

Almost as soon as the flight from Miami to London took off, she fell asleep on his shoulder. Noticing the goosebumps on her arms, Richard carefully pulled the blanket over her. He hadn't liked to say that her outfit wasn't really going to be suitable for London in September, but knew she would argue or make fun of him if he attempted to advise her on fashion. Mind you, she'd probably still shout at him for not warning her about the weather when they arrived, so either way was a lose lose situation. Camille turned in her seat, snuggling into his shoulder. Impulsively Richard dropped a kiss onto her forehead. How on earth he'd gotten so lucky to end up with someone like Camille he would never know. He just hoped his parents would see it.

Sure enough, when they arrived at Heathrow Camille shouted at him for not warning her about the rain and the cold. However nothing could dampen Richard's joy at seeing drizzle. He stood outside the terminal, head thrown back in reverie while Camille shouted at him to get in the bloody taxi and didn't he know he was letting the cold in? After a good few minutes, he joined a grumbling Camille in the taxi.

Despite all her complaints, Camille was fascinated to see London. She'd only visited once before for a course a few years ago. However she doubted that a converted warehouse on the edge of Luton airport counted as one of the highlights of the London tourism board. She was interested to see the city through Richard's eyes; it was clear he loved it and as her child would be part English, she wanted to try and understand how he felt. Although so far, she had to admit, she couldn't see the attraction. Everything was just so grey. The buildings were grey, the sky was grey, even the clothes were grey. The difference from Saint-Marie couldn't be more striking. Stifling a yawn, she leaned against Richard. The long flights and jet lag were catching up with her, and the time difference was already playing havoc with her morning sickness.

"Here we are," Richard said, nudging her. Camille lifted her head from his shoulder to survey the house while he paid the taxi driver. At least there was a tree planted in the pavement outside Richard's house, breaking up some of the grey with autumnal golden brown leaves. The house itself lacked the uniqueness and eclecticism of Richard's home in the Caribbean, but then perhaps that was the point. After all, Richard was not the kind of person to choose a house with a tree growing through it, although she liked to think he'd loosened up a little.

XOXOXOX

"Why is it so cold?" Camille grumbled. She tucked the duvet tightly under her chin, snuggling deeper into the mattress. Richard glanced up from his book at her.

"The heating's been off for two years," he reminded her. "Oi!" He jumped as she stuck her cold feet against his.

"How can you be so warm?"

"I think this lovely."

"Crazy English," she muttered, yanking the duvet even further up. Richard rolled his eyes. He reached into one of the drawers of his bedside cabinet. From there he pulled out a balled up pair of socks and tossed them at her. They bounced off her head. Camille emerged from the duvet, hair tousled and face surly. "What did you do that for?"

He rescued the socks and held them out for her.

"For your feet."

"Thank you," she replied grudgingly. Richard's mouth quirked up into small smile as she burrowed back beneath the covers. He placed his book carefully on the bedside cabinet, flicked off the nightlight then pulled her into a hug. Being back in London was clearly having a good effect on him. Camille gladly wrapped herself around him, desperate for the heat.

"We'll take you shopping tomorrow," he promised. "Maybe get some more suitable pyjammas."

XOXOXOX

"Better?"

"Better," Camille confirmed, snuggling into the ski jacket he'd just bought her. She couldn't believe that the Richard Poole standing in front of her was the same Richard Poole she'd left Saint-Marie with. He looked positively relaxed. And even more unbelievably, he wasn't wearing a suit. Yes, he was still wearing a blazer and a shirt, but with jeans. Seriously. Jeans. When she'd discovered them in his wardrobe that morning, Camille had demanded to know why he never wore them in the Caribbean. He had replied, "Because I'm at work there. I don't wear these clothes for work" with distain, as though she should've realised that.

After fitting out Camille with some more British weather appropriate clothing, Richard agreed to take her to see some of the sights. Usually he avoided the centre of London like the plague; too many tourists stopping every couple of seconds to take a picture making it impossible to get anywhere. However he was willing to make an exception today for the simple reason that Camille was with him. He noticed the perplexed looks she was giving him when she thought he wasn't looking, and he understood. However, he was not relaxed merely because he was back in London, although he didn't deny that it helped. Quite simply, he was happy. He was in London with the woman he loved and best of all, it wasn't hot!


	2. Awkward Relations

"I don't understand why you want to see it," Richard grumbled. "It's really nothing special."

"So that when you talk about it, I know where it is you're talking about," Camille replied, slipping her hand into his. Usually Richard would pulled away, declaring it improper for them to be seen holding hands in public – despite the whole island knowing they were a couple. However, with his newfound combined London and Camille induced relaxed state, he allowed it. After all, he was off duty and Camille wasn't a serving officer in London, so the propriety of it mattered less.

Rolling his eyes at her determination, Richard led her down the street towards Croydon Police Station.

"See?" he said. "I told you. Nothing special."

"Richard?" a voice behind them exclaimed in disbelief. Richard turned, dropping Camille's hand, to see a familiar face. "Good lord, it is you. What are you doing here?"

Camille took in the man before her. The word that instantly came to mind to best describe him was smooth. And not in the good way. He wore a suit rather like the ones Richard usually wore, although obviously more expensive. Here was a man who cared much more about appearances than policing.

"You're not back are you?" he continued, looking decidedly worried Camille observed. She bristled on Richard's behalf.

"No, just passing through," Richard replied. "On holiday."

"Did they force you?"

Richard's shoulder's stiffened. John Anderson had never been his favourite person. Beside him, he sensed the anger radiating from Camille. However to his surprise she didn't leap to his defence. Glancing round, he saw Camille had stepped away, looking queasy.

"Camille?" he said, reaching for her arm. Since arriving in the UK, the time difference had been playing havoc with her morning sickness. Lord knew he loved her more than anything in the world however if she was about to throw up in the street, he would have to walk away from her. She met his eyes as he silently asked _okay?_ She nodded, and his hand ghosted over her stomach before turning back to Anderson. "Sorry John," he continued. "Camille, this is Detective Inspector John Anderson. John, this is Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey. She wanted to see where I used to work." Richard rolled his eyes.

"Stop it," she ordered, punching his arm lightly.

"It's just a building."

"So is Buckingham Palace, but you insisted we go see it," she argued. "And I already knew what it looked like."

"The architecture of Buckingham Palace is much more interesting than Croydon Police Station," he retorted.

"You're impossible."

"She says that a lot."

"Because it's true."

John Anderson stared at them with a slightly bemused look on his face. He'd been shocked, then worried when he'd seen Richard, then gobsmacked when he'd noticed the woman with him. And going by how close they were standing they were definitely more than just colleagues.

"Well," he said. "I'd better get going and leave you to see the, er, sights. Bye."

As soon as the door to the station had closed behind Anderson, Camille turned to Richard.

"I don't like him," she announced.

XOXOXOX

Richard Poole was not a man prone to nerves. Not as an adult anyway. He was a man who was comfortable and good at his job. Admittedly social situations were not his forte, however on the whole nerves were not something he felt often. Discomfort, embarrassment and awkwardness yes. Nerves, no. But this morning he was nervous.

"Would you relax?" Camille snapped, her patience frayed by his constant fidgeting and finger tapping.

"I'm fine," he replied.

"You are not."

He sat on his hands in an attempt to stop fidgeting. They were on their way to his parents' house for Sunday lunch and although Richard was looking forward to the proper roast potatoes – Catherine tried her best, but the potatoes were the one thing she couldn't get just right – he was nervous about his parents meeting Camille for the first time. Especially with the announcement they were about to spring on them. It wasn't so much his mother that was the issue, it was his father. Graham Poole wasn't exactly known for having what you could call liberal views. He could just picture his father making a decidedly un-PC comment upon meeting Camille.

"Look," he began, hesitating before ringing the doorbell. "My dad... He's, well..."

"Richard, don't worry," Camille said. "It's fine."

"I just feel I should apologise in advance."

The door opened and Richard was instantly pulled into an embrace by his mother.

"Richard, darling!" she gushed. Richard returned her hug albeit a little awkwardly.

"Hello mum," he replied.

"How are you? Come in, come in." She ushered them into the house. Camille tried not to feel overwhelmed. Richard's mother seemed a little... cloying. It was almost unbelievable that she and Richard were related. "Oh it is so good to see you!" She pulled him into another hug.

"Mother!" Richard frowned, extracting himself from her grip. "Mum, this is Camille Bordey. Camille this is my mother, Elaine."

"Hi," Camille smiled, offering Elaine her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Hello."

"Are we all staying the the hallway or are you lot coming in?" Graham Poole grumbled from the living room.

"Come in dear." Elaine steered them into the living room, where Camille saw Richard's father for the first time. They shared a number of facial features, however Graham's face was much harder. Years of schooling them into a frown which mixed intimidation and nonchalance had made the expression permanent. Camille could only imagine what it was like for Richard as a child, turning to his father for affection and receiving this expression in response. It explained a lot.

"Hi dad," Richard said, flashing his father an awkward smile.

"Who's this then?" Graham asked, indicating to Camille and completely ignoring his son's greeting. Richard quickly made the necessary introductions. Camille offered Graham her hand as she had with Elaine; after a second's hesitation he took it. Richard breathed an internal sigh of relief. He just hoped he would be on his best behaviour for the rest of the afternoon.

"Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes," Elaine announced.

As they moved through to the dining room, Richard noticed Camille holding back. He turned, worried she'd found his mother too irritating or his father too distant. However, he quickly realised she'd been distracted by the pictures on the wall.

"Is this you?" she asked as he joined her.

"Unfortunately," he replied. The picture in question was not one of his favourites. Camille turned back to the frame, smiling. Richard looked about five or six, standing smartly to attention with his chest puffed out and the too large police helmet, which probably belonged to his father, dipping over his eyes as he smirked at the camera.

"I think it's cute."

He looked irritated at the description. She ignored him. Instead she moved along the wall slowly, taking in the pictures. Before her eyes Richard grew from happy little boy into a serious teenager after leaving for boarding school to awkward young adult at university. Camille had tried him before to show her pictures from when he was younger, but he had always rebuffed her. She was curious about his past. Richard didn't like to talk about it though, other than the odd casual comment usually after his mother had called to check up on him. She found herself becoming a little teary.

"What's wrong?" Richard asked.

"Stupid hormones," she muttered, quickly wiping her eyes.

XOXOXOX

Richard thought he'd died and gone to heaven. The dining table was covered in food from end to end and there wasn't a fish scale or an eyeball in sight. The roast beef had taken pride of place, surrounded by a multitude of bowls overflowing with mashed potatoes, gravy, peas, brussel sprouts, carrots, broccoli, and golden Yorkshire puddings. The only thing missing was...

"Here we are," Elaine announced, setting down the bowl of roast potatoes. Yes, definitely heaven.

"Mum, this is beautiful," he exclaimed, shovelling mash onto his fork. Camille rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, you'd think he never gets a roast dinner in Honore. My mother makes him one at least once a week."

"Yes," Richard replied, swallowing. "But she always gets the roast potatoes wrong."

"You're impossible."

"You always say that."

"Because it's true!"

Richard didn't reply, partly because he thought it was beneath his dignity to squabble like a four year old in front of his parents, but mostly because he was too busy relieving Camille of her Yorkshire pudding. He'd insisted she try one once. Her reaction had been one of decidedly uninspiring. Honestly, the woman didn't know what she was missing.

"Would you like to lick the plate?" Camille teased, as he mopped up every last drop of gravy with a roast potato.

"Don't be ridiculous," he replied as though he hadn't been considering it only seconds earlier. Camille raised an eyebrow suggesting she knew exactly what he'd been thinking. Damn her and her mind reading skills.

"Thank you Mrs Poole, it was delicious," she said, drawing her eyes away from her boyfriend.

"Please, call me Elaine. I insist," Elaine replied. "And I'm glad you liked it. Both of you."

Richard leaned back in his chair, laying one arm along the back of Camille's chair, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time. Not even his father's slightly critical look could dislodge the feeling of comfort. Although it seemed Camille was determined to try. She leaned into his side before nudging him gently with her elbow.

"Tell them," she whispered.

"Tell us what?" Graham asked. Damn his father and his bat like hearing. Richard took Camille's hand. She gave it a brief squeeze.

"Mum, dad, Camille and I have an announcement to make," Richard began. He wished the butterflies in his stomach would quit it. Why hadn't the two plates of roast beef been enough to quash them? His parents stared expectantly. "Camille and I are having a baby."

After a moment of stunned silence, Elaine Poole was on her feet, tearfully hugging her son.

"Congratulations darling, I'm so pleased for you!"

"Mother!" Richard croaked. He managed to extract himself from her death grip before straightening his tie. Elaine quickly rounded the table to pull Camille into a hug then bombarded her with questions about the pregnancy and her health. Meanwhile Richard turned to face his father nervously.

"Congratulations son," Graham said. Richard shook the hand his father had offered.

"Thanks dad."

"You two going to get married?"

"Maybe," Richard shrugged. He couldn't deny that he'd considered discussing marriage with Camille. He certainly had no qualms at the thought of spending his life with her. "Eventually. There's plenty of time."

"A child needs two parents."

"I'm not going anywhere," Richard replied sharply. He stared at his father, the incrimination clear. Credit where it was due, Graham held his gaze firmly. Behind him, Camille and his mother chatted away, unaware of the frostiness suddenly passing between father and son. Eventually Graham nodded.

"Congratulations," he repeated.

"Thank you," Richard said, knowing that they were going to pretend the last thirty seconds hadn't happened. As they always did.


	3. Keeping His Word

**I have never been to Clacton, and therefore had to do some serious googling. Thank heavens for wikipedia. **

**XOXOXOX**

Camille leaned forward in the passenger seat of the hire car to look up to the heavens. The currently very grey heavens. The sky was covered in huge rain clouds, and the wind had battered the car all the way along the A133, which lead her to believe that there was about to be an almighty storm.

"Here we are. Clacton as promised," Richard announced, turning off the ignition.

"It's... different," she replied diplomatically. "You used to come here on holidays often?"

"Every year until I was fifteen. I loved it. Visiting the pier, watching the airshow. Bliss."

"And the rain?" she teased.

"I'll have you know that Clacton has a lovely summer climate," he retorted. "An average of a cozy twenty degrees."

"Twenty degrees?" she echoed. "That's freezing!"

"Next time we come I'll take you to Scotland. Then you'll know what cold is."

"And you stayed in those... tin cans?" she asked, pointing to the static caravan they were parked next to.

"No. Mum and dad had their own caravan, one of the ones you tow behind the car. A lot less room. And no plumbed bathroom," he added. "I thought for your first time this might be better. To ease you gently."

Camille narrowed her eyes at his teasing. The success of the dinner with his parents had put him in an even better mood – something she would've denied was possible before leaving the island. As she followed him from the car into the static caravan the first few drops of rain began to fall.

To her surprise the tin can as she'd christened it wasn't as bad as she'd feared. In fact, she would bet that there was more room in it than in Richard's home on Saint-Marie and the two of them managed just fine there. And just like on Saint-Marie, the front of the caravan overlooked the beach. It even had a small veranda sticking out of one side although Camille doubted they would use it much if this weather continued.

"The beach is sandy," she observed in surprise.

"Yes, we do have sandy beaches in England," Richard replied. "I'll have you know that Clacton has one of only seven blue flag beaches in the east of England."

She rolled her eyes as he joined her at the window.

"So what is there to do in Clacton?"

"Well there's the pier."

"The pier?" she frowned. "What's so exciting about a pier?"

Richard fought the urge the sigh, knowing it would only wind her up.

"You don't understand, let me finish," he added before she could argue. "It's not a pier for boats to tie up on, although it was originally."

"Richard, the point?"

"Right. It's an entertainment pier these days, you know like Brighton and Blackpool? Amusement rides, arcades, I believe there's even a bowling alley and an aquarium these days."

"Not exactly the weather for it, is it?" she asked. Huge rain drops were now blurring the view from the windows and the wind had strengthened. "How about we get something to eat?"

"I'll go get us fish and chips. Stay here where it's warm and dry." He pressed a kiss into her hair before grabbing the keys. Camille smiled softly. He would deny it until the end of time, but deep down Richard Poole was a big softy.

XOXOXOX

"I never thought I'd see the day when you voluntarily ate seafood," Camille teased. The rain had ceased and the wind dropped a little, so the two had decided to brave the weather by perching in the doorway of the caravan. There wasn't really room for the two of them to sit comfortably, but neither minded the closeness.

"Ah but this is British seafood," Richard explained. "No eyes, see?"

Camille smiled. Despite the rain and the grey, she was actually enjoying herself. She'd forgotten about his promise to take her to Clacton during the hurricane earlier in the year until he'd announced that he'd arranged for them to spend two nights there before flying back home. She couldn't deny the warm feeling that had spread throughout her when he referred to Saint-Marie as home. Even though they'd been together for over six months and now had the baby on the way, a tiny part of her still expected him to think of London as home. So to have him so casually to call the island he complained about so much home was reassuring. And she was enjoying the snippets of information about his childhood holidays in Clacton he was sharing with her. Seeing the photos at his parents had only increased her curiosity about his past. There was clearly some tension between Richard and Graham, however she knew him well enough to know that if she pressed it he wouldn't answer. And for all her hugging and chatting, even Elaine seemed to gloss over the awkwardness between her husband and son, as though ignoring it would make it cease to exist. Perhaps in her head it already had.

"I'm not saying I'm completely converted," Camille said indicating to her haddock supper. "But it's not the worst."

"As long as you don't take a liking to mushy peas," Richard replied. "I don't think I could forgive that."

Camille looked confused.

"What are mushy peas?"

"Exactly what it says on the tin so to speak."

"And people eat them?"

"Yes. It's a fish supper thing. Never understood it myself."

"Don't worry, it sounds revolting. I think I'll give it a miss."

"Good." Richard took their empty vinegary papers, scrunched them into a ball then placed them inside the caravan's hallway. They sat in comfortable silence and watched as a break appeared in the clouds, allowing the sunlight the break through creating a rainbow above the beach. Richard turned towards Camille.

"I love you," he said. Camille turned to him in surprise. Despite her saying it to him many times, he'd never actually said that he loved her before. She'd never doubted that he did. The fact that he tried so hard for a second chance with her not once but twice said enough, let alone all the little things like the way he'd made sure to give her a birthday present despite being in the middle of a difficult case or bought her flowers on the anniversary of Aimee's death. "I know I haven't said it before," he continued. "And I'm, well, I'm not the best at this sort of thing. Frankly I don't know why you put up with me."

"Because I love you too," she replied, leaning forward to kiss him.

"Come on," Richard said when they separated. He stood up, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I want to capture this. To prove I got you out here. Smile."

Even years later, Richard would refer back to that photo. It was his overriding memory of the whole trip. That photo of Camille sitting in the doorway, smiling up at him. His beautiful Camille. That day and every day since that he'd looked at it, Richard knew that he was the luckiest man alive.


End file.
